No, not moving as in emotionally moving after my heartstrings have been tugged by the recently separated Brad Pitt.
It’s moving from the confines of a small abode to the confines of a slightly larger one. After suffering bouts of interruptions to my life over recent years, I am glad, and fortunate, to have fallen upon an ideal ‘forever’ home. The bonus, as is etched into the ‘wish list’ of many writers, is a defined space (or studio) where I’ll have room for a desk and table, a decent Argos bookcase (if ‘decent’ and ‘Argos’ complement each other) and a filing cabinet for my rejections. My studio won’t make me a better writer, but it will certainly make me happier, and then, as a consequence, well . . .
So my next post will be written from a gas-lift chair behind an antique leather-inlaid desk as I overlook the green panorama of Worcestershire meadows.